


the changing of the seasons (and i still love you)

by bandshirts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Sharing a Bed, The Pack Ships It, no monsters just vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27729532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandshirts/pseuds/bandshirts
Summary: “Sooo,” Scott sidles up to him one day in late April, leans against the counter while he’s making a coffee, raises his eyebrows in question. “Derek, huh?”Stiles studiously ignores how his cheeks heat up, pours sugar into his cup, murmurs softly, “Yeah.”And Scott grins brightly at him, punches him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t question any further.They’re gonna be okay.***Derek returns to Beacon Hills, and as the seasons change, Stiles falls in love.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken
Comments: 86
Kudos: 578





	the changing of the seasons (and i still love you)

**Author's Note:**

> kinda canon compliant? kinda not? whatever it’s in the future and everyone’s Happy okay, boyd n erica are alive obviously bc i said so, we’re totally ignoring the majority of season 6 bc its an absolute shambles n we do not claim it as canon. this is absolutely just 7000 words of pure pack feels and derek hale being soft and happy and going to therapy bc he deserves it
> 
> (also featuring background thiam cos they're the only part of season 6 we're accepting)

Lydia breaks up with Stiles in winter and it doesn’t hurt.

She kisses him on the cheek, tells him that it’s okay, she’s not mad, but she won’t compete with anyone for his heart; they were never built to last, not in the way he once thought he wanted.

Stiles is – he’s grateful. He thinks so, at least. Grateful that he doesn’t have to be the one to tell her that it’s not working, not after so many years of dreaming of her, only to find that the fantasy of them that existed in his head was never going to be their reality. But with their romance extinguished, their friendship burns out too, and he’s left more alone than ever. Which only means one thing, really. With Lydia out of the picture, his thoughts drift again. It’s been five years but he never really stopped.

His dad doesn’t seem surprised when he tells him it’s over, as if he’d known all along that she was never his, not really. He just claps him on a shoulder, but there’s knowing and sympathy in his eyes, and Stiles turns his gaze away, too afraid that he’ll do something stupid like spill his heart.

“You’re still waiting for him.’

And Stiles is – he’s too tired to argue anymore.

He closes his eyes and he waits.

Winter fades into spring, taking with it the ice that’s layered over his heart. The days get longer, the sun sets later, Stiles stops hurting, and Derek comes back.

A lot can happen in five years, Stiles thinks when his dad tells him about it over breakfast – he says it casually, although Stiles knows it’s anything but – and there’s sudden nerves mingling with the rush of hope that settles in his gut.

Not for the first time, Stiles wonders if he’s coming back to start a family – if he’s bringing with him some beautiful woman with curves and long hair he can bury his hands in, who smells sweetly of perfume and laughs at all the right times and doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night screaming, and who smiles at Derek like he’s something special and soothes all of the dark parts of him that Stiles never could. He thinks of Derek gazing at her like she’s something holy, like he never did with Stiles, thinks of Derek and this nameless woman and a gaggle of adorable werewolf babies, and he wants it for himself so bad he aches with it.

His dad gives him Derek’s number, as if his finger hasn’t hovered over his contact a hundred times in the years he’s been gone, as if he hasn’t composed a thousand texts to him that never made it out of the drafts.

He doesn’t call.

He knows his dad gave Derek his number, he’s not stupid.

Derek doesn’t call.

Eleven times he debates going to the loft to find him, is halfway to the door before he changes his mind again. Dreams of how their reunion is going to go down, thinks of how if he touches any part of Derek’s skin, he might never let him go again. Considers how seeing Derek happy with someone else will probably hurt more than never seeing him again, because at least in his imagination he can pretend there’s some part of Derek that’s always loved him back.

His dad doesn’t push it but he knows he’s getting tired of waiting for one of them to snap.

Neither of them do but Stiles runs into Derek at a coffee shop, of all places.

He’s barely one step in the door when he sees him, but his heart kicks up so many notches he knows there’s no way he can escape without notice and yeah he might be fucking terrified but he’s no _coward_.

Derek looks up, meets his gaze and– the bastard _smiles_. It’s a distressingly beautiful smile, one that disarms Stiles, makes his breath catch, leaves him trembling. He’d always been drawn to Derek’s sharp angles and chiseled edges, knew he was something dark and dangerous and so out of reach it fucking _burnt_ sometimes; Stiles had been young, angry, biting, always with something to prove, had stared unwaveringly into dark eyes and danger and pushed until he shook and trembled and cracked with the force of it.

 _Now_ , though.

This is five years of freedom. It’s breaking every bone in your body and putting every single fragmented piece back together again and again until they take the shape of someone who finally knows what it is to heal; is Derek looking soft and content and at ease with himself and smiling at Stiles like he’s the missing piece of the puzzle; is Stiles looking at a stranger that knows every part of him across a crowded room and thinking, yeah, this is what I’ve waiting for.

“I’m really mad at you.” He tells him in lieu of greeting. It’s a lie, is the thing; Stiles hasn’t been mad at him for a very long time.

Five years ago, he’d been so angry he’d burnt with it. He’d looked around at all the broken pieces of himself and his pack and the place that hadn’t felt like home since the night his mom died, had sunk to his knees in the midst of them and screamed and shook and trembled until he could drown out the voices in his head and the way they taunted and destroyed and blamed him for never being enough of anything. It wasn’t fair that Derek had got out and Stiles would never be able to do the same.

“We _needed_ you Derek,” He’d screamed once through the sobs that wracked his body, sprawled out on the floor of the loft that was _cold cold cold empty empty empty_ – “We needed you and you weren’t _there_.”

And it had taken years of therapy but he finally knew.

Derek had abandoned Stiles – but he’d abandoned himself much earlier.

“I’m sorry I never called.”

It’s the first thing Derek’s said to him in five years.

Sitting in the chair opposite a man he barely recognises, Stiles freezes, stares. Blinks. Opens his mouth. Pauses. Says, “You’ve never apologised to me before.” And then, “You don’t have to.”

Derek huffs out a breath of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “And you’ve never been lost for words either.”

“You just _smiled_ at me,” He’s whining at this point but it’s totally justified. “Dude, I think you might’ve just _laughed_. Of course I’m speechless. I’m literally in _shock_ , Derek, I need a blanket.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“I can throw you into a wall if you'd prefer.” 

Stiles would.

He thinks about eight years ago – thinks about the thrill that sparked through his veins the first time he found himself pinned against the wall by this stranger who had been thrown into his life, dangerous and gorgeous; the way Derek’s nostrils flared, no doubt having been assaulted by waves of barely contained teenage arousal; remembers later that night, how the memory had crept up on him, unbidden, and he’d come hard with the werewolf’s name on his lips, gasping, shaky and shameful and afraid.

And then he thinks about now – thinks about how he’d push into Derek’s space, smirk up at him, knowing he’d still be unable to hide his want but knowing that it was far from unwelcome; how he’d catch Derek’s bottom lip in his teeth, smooth it over with is tongue, fist his hair in his hand, slot their hips together –

He licks his lips, subconsciously, and Derek does laugh this time, a bright and beautiful sound. Stiles is awestruck, can’t help but smile helplessly at him, feels giddy when he sees fondness in Derek’s eyes where there used to be so much anger. God, it’s been five years, and so much has changed, but he’s still hopelessly, irrevocably, in love with him.

Stiles thinks he should say, “ _I forgive you for everything_.” Thinks he should say, “ _I’m glad you’re okay_.” Thinks he should say “ _I missed you, I can’t believe you’re here, you’ve missed so much, I’m in love with you, please love me back, I’ve been waiting for you.”_ Blurts out, instead, “Did you come back alone?”

So maybe he’s out of practice, but he likes to think he’s still well-versed in the catalogue of different expressions Derek Hale’s eyebrows can convey. He once considered himself an expert, knew he was the only one that could read him like that because he was the only one who dared get close enough, in that one summer where it was just the two of them and everything seemed golden.

Yeah maybe everything he once knew about Derek is different now, but he’s familiar, still; the expression on his face is familiar. It’s one he’s seen before, directed at Braeden, at Jennifer, at women that smiled too wild and flirted too much, and once, at Erica – one that made him clench his fists and seethe quietly. He’s never experienced the warm liquid realisation that Derek’s eyebrows are _flirting with him_.

So he smirks back. Doesn’t miss the way Derek appraises him, taking in all the ways he’s changed since they last saw each other. Stiles isn’t blind, knows the years have been good to him. He’s filled into his body, has learnt to carry himself with an attractive confidence, he’s aware of the attention he gets, knows he’s fucking _hot_ now.

“Just me.”

He thinks there’s no point trying to hide the slow smile that settles across his face. Derek Hale is back in Beacon Hills, Derek Hale smiles at Stiles like he means something to him, Derek Hale is single, Derek Hale is _attracted to him._

He’s been waiting long enough.

Derek’s a deputy now.

He doesn’t like how that bit of information makes him feel. Feels like a bit of a creep when he thinks about how attracted to Derek he is when he wears his uniform, thinks about how his dad and Parrish wear the same uniform, shudders violently, thinks about how he’d find Derek attractive in anything so it’s less of a uniform thing and more of a Derek thing. Feels like less of a creep.

When he comes to the office to see his dad now, it’s to see Derek too. In fact, it’s probably more to see Derek than it is to see his dad, but he ignores that, and mercifully his dad doesn’t mention it.

So he carries on swinging his legs over Derek’s desk, perching there to annoy him while he’s working, poking and prodding at him like he always has.

Only Derek doesn’t scowl at him like he’s something he doesn’t understand anymore. He looks at him like he wants to figure him out, as if he doesn’t already know him better than everyone. Stiles flirts obnoxiously in that same way he always has, Derek flirts _back_ , Stiles bites his lip and grins happily at him and ignores the rush of blood in his veins.

He ignores the knowing smirks Parrish is always sending their way. Quickly realizes they get the same looks from the entire office. Ignores them too.

Derek has a house.

Derek Hale has a house that isn’t falling apart at the seams, with a fluffy carpet and a functional kitchen and a biscuit tin and a shoe cupboard. Derek Hale goes to _therapy_ and Stiles is so attracted to him it _hurts_.

He’s there more often than he isn’t, has been since the first time Derek invited him round, smiling _shyly_ , Derek Hale was _shy_ , how the hell was he allowed to say no to that.

He thinks it should be weirder than it is how easily they slip back into _StilesandDerek_ like they’d been apart a few weeks instead of half a decade. They’re different people now but somehow it feels like nothing’s changed. Stiles isn’t forced to fill the silences with mindless rambling anymore but when he does Derek just snorts at him, rolls his eyes, and it’s all kinds of endearing the way he’s smiling while he does so. They trade snarks, easy banter falling from their lips; Derek is witty, sharp, and he only growls and flashes his eyes at Stiles occasionally.

They do normal people things like play video games and watch movies and binge tv shows and eat pizza, and it’s only different to how it used to be with Scott in that the lack of space between their bodies makes his heart race and the hand that plays with his hair makes him shiver, and Derek stares at his mouth sometimes, and Stiles thinks about kissing him.

It’s warm, it’s safe. It’s the closest Stiles has felt to belonging in a very long time.

The Sheriff invites Derek to dinner at their house because apparently that’s a _thing_ they do now. Stiles cooks for them all, because he’s been doing that a lot since he got back from college, and Derek sits with his dad in the front room, beer in hand, or he helps him in the kitchen, their elbows knocking, and it’s so domestic it makes Stiles’ heart clench.

It’s a Thursday night, and Stiles is making lasagne. Derek’s leaning against the counter working him work, and Stiles scowls and flicks sauce at his nose, snorting at the way he goes cross-eyed looking at it.

“Are you just gonna stare at me, asshole?”

Derek smirks, flashes blue eyes and fangs at him, and Stiles rolls his eyes, shoves him in the chest. Derek steps back obligingly as if Stiles had actually made him move and not just collided uselessly with the muscle there, which just makes him scoff.

“Whatever man, shut up, just peel the freaking carrots.”

Derek dumps the carrot peel on his head in retaliation, and Stiles yelps and bites at Derek’s finger and Derek uses the same finger to flick Stiles on the forehead and Stiles bends Derek’s entire hand back but whatever, they get the job done.

Stiles catches his dad out of the corner of his eye, and he’s watching them with a knowing smirk; Derek ducks his head, ears turning pink, and Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever quite wrap his head around the fact that this is his life now: Derek Hale, blushing in his kitchen, because of him.

Scott comes back to town.

Malia’s long gone, somewhere deep in Asia, having finally scratched at the itch beneath her skin that Beacon Hills could never reach.

Somewhere between finishing college and returning home, Scott and Kira had run into one another, had learnt how to make the broken pieces of themselves fit together again, had fought time and time again until they almost seemed whole.

The first time Stiles sees her, she squeals and pulls him into a tight hug, crushing his bones and gushing about how much she’d missed him, and Stiles laughs, tears threatening to pool in the corners of his eyes, as her presence fills a part of him he hadn't even noticed was missing.

The relationship between Stiles and Scott is still strained, but they spend hours talking, Scott apologises, Stiles doesn’t forgive him straight away; they play video games well into the night, and it doesn’t fix anything, but it’s a start.

When Isaac turns up on the doorstep one day looking surer of himself than he’s ever been, strong and confident but still so vulnerable, Stiles lets him in without asking a single question.

Isaac falls into Derek’s arms and his tears stain his t-shirt. He apologizes a hundred different ways and Derek forgives each one.

Lydia doesn’t return – he doesn’t think she ever will – but they’ve settled back into a tentative friendship, and when she catches sight of Derek over his shoulder one day during a skype session, she raises an eyebrow and smiles smugly but she doesn’t say a word. Stiles is suddenly eternally grateful to have her in his life.

Gradually, their pack becomes whole again.

“Sooo,” Scott sidles up to him one day in late April, leans against the counter while he’s making a coffee, raises his eyebrows in question. “Derek, huh?”

Stiles studiously ignores how his cheeks heat up, pours sugar into his cup, murmurs softly, “Yeah.”

And Scott grins brightly at him, punches him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t question any further.

They’re gonna be okay.

It’s almost a month later, their group of misfits gathered in Derek’s place under the guise of a pack meeting, except Beacon Hills hasn’t faced any serious danger for years now and they all know it’s just an excuse to feel the bonds between them settle into place again, when the doorbell rings.

The wolves are suddenly alert, scenting the air, their eyes disbelieving and distrusting all at once. Stiles feels panic settle into his stomach for the first time in so long. From beside him, Derek stands and makes towards the door, Stiles’ hand reaching out to grab his wrist of its own accord.

“It’s okay.” He can’t see Isaac’s face from where he’s sitting but he can hear the way his voice tremors. Scott breathes out shakily, jaw clenched. Kira just looks confused but she doesn’t ask questions.

The door opens and for a long moment, no one breathes.

A loud sob cuts through the silence. Derek clings to an armful of long blonde hair. The rest of them are unsure if they should laugh or cry.

Erica bounds into the living room, flinging herself into Stiles’ arms. Boyd follows behind, smile unsure, but Isaac curls into him and neither of them let go for a long time.

Scott introduces Kira as his girlfriend and Erica looks like she wants to ask more, but she doesn’t bring up Allison. Stiles thinks they’ve probably healed enough to mention her name by now, but the guilt still clings at his throat and he’s not quite ready to open up old scars. Not now. Maybe not ever.

When they’re all seated again, film forgotten as Erica tells them about the pack her and Boyd joined that never quite felt like home and Scott and Kira talk about college and rekindling lost love, Derek curls a hand around Stiles’ neck. Stiles lets the warmth of him bleed into old scars until the nogitsune feels like a distant memory.

No one’s heard from the two betas in seven years. Erica stares straight at Stiles with a knowing smirk the moment she notices the way his body curls into Derek’s and he scowls and throws a pillow at her in response. Boyd sighs long-sufferingly and drags her into his lap.

It feels like nothing’s changed.

He doesn’t even get two days of peace before Erica’s cornering him in the kitchen. She fixes him with an unimpressed stare, an eyebrow raised in challenge, and its achingly familiar.

“Please tell me it hasn’t been seven years and you’re _still_ yet to make a move on our Alpha.” Scott’s the alpha, technically, but Derek knows more about what it means to be a pack than Scott ever did and they’ve surprised them all by being content to share the title between them. Stiles doesn’t need to question who she’s talking about.

“Actually,” he declares smarmily, attempting to duck under her arm and decidedly not squeaking when she throws him back against the counter. “I didn’t see him for five years, so, personally, I think I’m allowed a bit of time to, you know, work on it.” He frowns. “Not that I’d. _Want_ to make a move anyway. Literally what why would you–”

Erica huffs at him and shoves him again. He still totally doesn’t squeak.

“I haven’t seen you in seven years can you _please_ stop trying to break me-“ And Erica frowns and steps back too quickly, sends Stiles almost careening to the ground with her grip on his forearms suddenly missing. Her gaze turns to the floor. She looks so lost, so heartbreakingly _young_ , and it reminds him so much of the nervous teenage girl he knew all those years back – back before she clawed her way free of her cage and learned to hide all of that softness beneath red lipstick and short skirts and too much leather.

“Hey! Hey, look at me, I’m not–” He grabs her face in both hands. “It’s okay, catwoman. We’re good. We’re so good. I don’t care that you’ve been gone for so long; you’re here _now_.”

She falls into his arms and he doesn’t let go for a very long time.

When they finally part, there’s tears staining her cheeks, but she’s smirking.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten those lies you just told me, by the way. I’m a _werewolf_ , Stiles, of course I know you wanna bone Der-bear.” She scoffs, turning on her heel.

Stiles loves her with every fiber of his being.

Spring creeps into Summer without any of them really noticing, the sticky heat smoothing out the last of their sharp angles and extinguishing the last of the tension that lingered between them. Scott clings too tightly; Boyd still pauses before his hand makes contact with them; a shadow passes Isaac’s face sometimes when he looks at Kira; Erica still loses herself in the past, but they’re okay, mostly.

Stiles catches Derek staring at them all sometimes in something akin to awe, like he still can’t believe he’s finally managed to find a family again after so many years of feeling bitter and alone, and it makes something soft and sweet unfurl in Stiles’ chest. He knows Derek no longer relies on the anger that had once burnt so bright to be his anchor but he hasn’t hedged the question of what it is now – isn’t too sure he’s allowed.

Sometimes, though–

When he can tell that Derek is being reminded too much of the past and the way it still haunts him, Stiles presses against him, brushes their arms together, entwines their fingers, watching as the red bleeds out of his eyes and thinks– maybe. Derek smiles softly at him every time, something sweet and private, just for him, and it always leaves him breathless.

He doesn’t ask. Knows Derek will tell him when he’s ready.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the start of spring, didn’t miss having Derek all to himself, but he loves his pack more than anything, and Derek still gravitates towards him no matter how many people are around, so he doesn’t mind too much.

Sometimes, though –

Having been surrounded by werewolves for eight years of his life, Stiles has learnt to mask his emotions pretty well. That doesn’t mean he’s capable of preventing himself from leaking all his romantic lovey-dovey feelings for Derek all over the place.

The first time Derek talks about his parents in front of more than just Stiles, brings them up in conversation with a soft smile, wistful but no longer achingly poignant, Stiles is a tiny bit overwhelmed with pride, a little bit in awe of the progress Derek’s made in the five years he was gone. Isaac ruins the moment by laughing at him.

One time they’re sitting outside — because Derek has a _garden_ now which is all kinds of crazy — and he and Stiles are pressed together, his thigh a long line of heat against Stiles’ own. Derek tangles their fingers, leans against him. Stiles’ skin tingles where their bodies meet and he’s helpless to the warmth that floods through him. Kira fixes him with one of those knowing smiles he’s more than used to by now. Erica scoffs. Scott kicks her in the shin.

Each time, Derek meets his gaze, smiles softly, cheeks pink, and it’s enough for Stiles to ignore everyone else.

He’s so used to pining, so used to falling for unattainable people, he doesn’t quite know what to do with the knowledge that Derek wants him back.

So he waits.

They hear from Jackson in late July.

Lydia keeps him updated – they haven’t loved each other for a long time, but when he’d at some point grown up and decided to fix his past mistakes, she was the first person he’d reached out to. They’re not together but there’s still a tiny part of them that will always belong to each other.

He invites them to his parent’s beach house.

He brings Ethan and Danny, Malia and Cora get dragged halfway across the country, Liam and Mason and Corey hear about the plans and race home from college, somehow Parrish gets an invite too, no one invites Theo but he turns up anyway and just like that, everyone’s together again.

Stiles tries not to think too hard about the people that they’re missing – the ones that didn’t quite make it.

He’s survived so, _so_ much with all of these people, so much so that it’s a wonder that they’re all here, together, which is why it takes him a while to realise that half of them have never even met.

They’ve been at the house for approximately three and a half minutes before Isaac’s whooping and tearing towards the ocean, Scott hot on his heels whilst Jackson rolls his eyes dramatically, even as he toes off his shoes and sprints after them. Stiles is barely ankle-deep in the water when Jackson grabs him and dunks his head under the surface for no reason other than that he’s _Jackson_ , and he's only stopped from seeing how long kanimas can breathe underwater before they drown by Derek rising up from beneath the waves like some sort of majestic sea-God. _Poseidon_ , his brain supplies helpfully, but he’s a little distracted.

He’s a little too pre-occupied with watching the droplets of water as they slide from Derek’s hair and down his chest, which is why he doesn’t notice the new arrivals until he’s caught off guard by a 5’7 werewolf jumping on his back, dragging him under the surface _again_ and interrupting his quite frankly extremely important task.

“ _Dude_!” Stiles splutters, choking on seawater. “Stop trying to drown the _human_!”

He’d see how long _werewolves_ can breathe underwater before they drown too, except Liam’s waving at him with a smile like sunshine and his dimples on display and it’s so unfair; he hates his son.

Only then Erica’s suddenly behind them, grabbing Liam’s cheeks with her hands to coo at him, “Who’s _this_ cutie?”

The fear in his eyes is satisfying enough revenge for Stiles, even as Erica gasps and moves on to Corey instead. There’s a fond smile twitching at Boyd’s lips when he shakes his head at her, his eyes catching Mason’s in exasperation.

Stiles lets the sound of their laughter wash over him and floats back to Derek, absently reaching up to run a hand through his damp hair.

He watches them – watches his _pack_ , so free from the horrors that used to plague them all, that tried so hard to keep them down. Ethan attempts to splash Jackson only to catch Isaac instead, getting pulled under for his trouble; Kira ends up caught in the fray, which naturally means Scott has to jump in to valiantly defend her honour; Mason and Danny jump into the midst of it only to end up nearly drowning; Liam ignores them entirely, nuzzles into Theo, smiling serenely.

Five years is more than enough time to heal old scars, Stiles thinks. Derek’s skin is warm against his back.

They’re alive.

The moment Malia steps in the door, three hours and a litre of swallowed seawater later, she immediately wrinkles her nose and turns to Stiles.

“Why do you _reek_ of Derek?”

He scoffs, strategically ignoring Isaac and Erica sniggering behind him.

“Hi Malia, wow, _Stiles_ , it’s so great to see you, how’s life, how have you _been_? Great! Thanks! _You_? Amazing.”

She rolls her eyes and smiles softy, stepping into his open arms. Things had been awkward, for a while, after their mutual breakup, but with everything settling down in Beacon Hills it hadn’t taken long for them to settle into a deep friendship that was stronger than the romantic relationship between them had ever been. He’s grinning as he holds her tightly, revelling in the feeling of another pack bond settling into place.

Isaac clears his throat pointedly then. He’s looking at Stiles, eyebrows raised intentionally. When he darts his eyes to Malia and then back to him, Stiles sighs and lets her go.

“Malia,” He spins her around by the shoulders to face Isaac. “This is Isaac.”

Isaac winks at her.

Stiles doesn’t involve himself in that any further.

Lydia, predictably, arrives with a flourish, fashionably late, immediately taking all the attention away from the unnecessarily intense game of monopoly they’d all involved themselves in.

She’s got one manicured hand anchored around Cora’s wrist, who hangs back, scowling, but Stiles knows Derek and his sister well enough to see that it’s just misplaced nerves.

Derek drags Cora into his arms and she huffs, but Stiles catches sight of the smile she tries to hide, the subtle way she breathes in as she sinks into him, only to turn a terrifying smirk on Stiles.

“Interesting.” She murmurs; flicks her eyes between them.

Stiles studiously ignores another person in the room. It’s becoming a habit.

There’s no room for everyone, is the thing.

There’s six bedrooms and seventeen people and Stiles doesn’t need to do much math to come to the conclusion that it really doesn’t work out.

Naturally, Erica threatens to break every limb in the house if anyone tries to make her share a room with anyone who’s not Boyd. No one is interested in seeing if she makes good on her promise.

Isaac ends up with Scott and Kira; Mason and Corey agree to let Liam in with them (Theo swears he’s totally not pouting); it seems to be a given that Jackson, Ethan and Danny are in one room (Stiles decides to ignore that); and Stiles and Derek, amazingly, are left just the two of them.

Is he supposed to send them all fruit baskets? Maybe he should send them all fruit baskets.

“Stiles, man,” Mason’s saying to him, tone hushed. “How long have you been dating _Derek_? How did you – _dude_? _What_?” He sounds a little bit in awe and Stiles preens because yeah man, _he did that_ , _he so totally scored Derek Hale, what the fuck._

From over Mason’s shoulder, Corey nods empathetically.

“He’s, like, a God.” His eyes are gazing into the distance dreamily and his tone is a little bit wistful and Mason scowls, punches him in the arm. Corey just smiles sweetly at him and shrugs.

“I’m not dating Derek.” Stiles interrupts. He grins at the disbelieving look that passes between the two of them.

“ _Why_?” Mason nearly yells at him, at the same time Corey says, “Wait, so does that mean we can ask him to join us?”

Stiles smirks when he hears the splash of Mason pushing him into the pool.

“So you’re, what, bisexual?”

Liam’s staring up at him, eyes wide and earnest, and Stiles knows realistically that he’s an adult now and he gets served in bars and has like, responsibilities, (the thought makes him feel a little bit sick because, what the fuck, Stiles is so _old_ ) but he’s just such a baby still – he’s so adorable; Stiles is so fond of him.

“Yeah, man.” He grins lazily.

“Dude!” Liam holds out his hand for a fist bump. “Me too!”

Stiles hums around the neck of his beer.

“Theo?”

Liam scowls, but even in the dark Stiles can see the way his cheeks flush.

_“No.”_

He doesn’t need to be a werewolf to know he’s lying.

They make a campfire and, miraculously, no one gets burnt. It’s a close call – he thinks Malia might have a bit of her left eyebrow missing, and Scott nearly ends up _in_ the fire when a flame gets a bit too close to Lydia’s hair, but no one’s actually gone up in flames yet. It’s absolutely a win. Stiles strategically ignores the fact that it’s only 9pm and the amount of alcohol being passed round is absolutely a recipe for disaster. He bets on Isaac being the one to burn.

Stiles is sandwiched in between Cora, who's leaning into Lydia, ( _interesting_ ) and Scott, who's too busy sucking Kira’s face off to be of any enlightening conversation. Derek, meanwhile, is sat opposite him, and in the soft glow of the fire he looks a little bit ethereal. Stiles watches him laugh with Theo (used to be angry and brooding but now happier and brooding bonding, he supposes), knows the way his eyes shine when he looks at Derek like this, doesn’t bother trying to mask it. His heart races – everyone’s used to it by now; his heart does it a lot, but Derek’s eyes still flit up to meet his gaze. It happens a lot. He’s still not used to it.

“Do you love him?” Cora murmurs, sounding sincere and soft and a little bit fond, which is something new he’ll definitely dissect later.

He flushes, drags his gaze away. Doesn’t answer; knows he doesn’t have to.

Isaac doesn’t end up in the fire but Stiles can’t say the same for Erica’s lipstick, one of Ethan’s shoes, Theo’s hand, and Liam.

Liam survives the entire ordeal with only mild third-degree burns and Erica only nearly mauls Jackson to death for making her drop her lipstick and Ethan’s shoes were pretty fucking ugly anyway so everything is fine, but Liam’s near-death experience brings them all inside anyway.

Stiles is still buzzed from the shots Lydia and Malia had gleefully shoved down his throat, which means he’s falling asleep on one of the sofas when a shadow falls over him. He blinks his eyes open blearily, belatedly realising that most of the group had disappeared upstairs and sees Derek smirking at him.

“Are you getting up anytime soon?”

Stiles shakes his head. Derek sighs and scoops him up in his arms.

If there wasn’t so much vodka flooding his bloodstream he’d be slightly embarrassed, and then hot all over and shivering as Derek manhandles him into position beneath the covers, but as it is he just grins dopily and pats Derek’s head in thanks.

He wakes up three hours later dehydrated and starving and with his head pounding.

See, Stiles’ lack of werewolf hearing is great when it comes to sleeping in a room next to Erica and Boyd; less great when it comes to the ability to have a slight awareness of his surroundings. So when he stumbles downstairs, he’s caught totally unaware by the sight of Liam, face flushed and moving on top of Theo, mouth hanging open in a soundless gasp, his hands fisted in Theo’s hair.

“Fuck, _shit_ , do that again,” Liam fucking _begs_ , sounding all sorts of needy and desperate, rolling his hips. Sure, the way Theo gazes up at him like he’s the only man ever is kind of sweet or whatever but _gross_ man that’s his _children_ he’s looking at; Stiles is fleeing the room as fast as his body allows, feeling mildly sick as Theo’s “ _right there,_ _baby_ ” follows him out even with his hands slapped over his ears frantically.

Alright he’s happy for them, whatever, but he’s _hungry_. The two of them are so inconsiderate.

“Liam and Theo are fucking.” He sighs mournfully, back in their room.

“ _Finally_.” Derek mutters, not even bothering to crack an eye open. Stiles sighs and slides back into bed, curling into Derek’s warmth. The arm that wraps itself around him automatically makes him smile softly, even as he mourns the lack of food in his stomach. Derek takes his pain, anyway, as if Stiles were experiencing anything other than mild discomfort. Everything is warm and soft and hazy as he drifts back to sleep.

He’s watching the stars.

It’s something that reminds him of his mother, something that makes him feel close to her when he’s forgotten how her voice sounds or how her hair always used to tickle his face when they sat close or how the smell of her perfume inspired a sense of safety that he spent so many years longing for. 

He hears movement behind him, doesn’t need to look to know it’s Derek coming to check on him, grabs his hand, pulls him down to lie beside him, and he goes willingly.

“Hi.” He whispers in the quiet of the night.

“Hi.” Derek murmurs right back. He doesn’t question why Stiles is awake— it’s 4am and everyone had trickled off to bed hours ago — but he opens his mouth to say something and when he hesitates, it’s for only a fraction of a second.

“Laura always loved looking at the stars.” His voice is unbearably soft. “Said they reminded her how big the universe was. How insignificant we are.”

Stiles hums in response, feeling that familiar drizzle of warmth he’s grown used to whenever Derek lets him into this world so full of family and safety and hope – this world that he deserved to stay a part of so bad – that was ripped from him so unfairly that Stiles wants to scream and curse and tear up the entire goddamn universe sometimes.

The two of them lapse into silence, faces still tilted skyward but there’s something different in the air tonight: something that feels charged, that wraps itself around them and settles into their veins. Something inevitable.

“She would have loved you.”

In the quiet, Stiles can hear Derek when he breathes out shakily and he’s content to let it settle in the air between them. When Derek’s fingers reach out and brush the palm of his hand, trail a path up his wrist that leaves tingles in their wake, his touch calming but still able to set his veins alight, soft but so sure, Stiles sighs. Something flutters in his ribcage and he lets the shiver wash over him.

He feels more than sees when Derek turns his head to gaze at him. The moment feels so important, he’s helpless to do anything other than roll onto his side and shift closer.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, he’s struck once again by just how beautiful Derek really is. His eyes are bright, his mouth relaxed. He’s so gorgeous it makes him tremble.

Stiles licks his lips and waits, breath stuttering in his chest, because if this happened it was always going to be Derek’s choice. He’d told himself that since day one. The illusion of choice had been stripped from him by so many people and Stiles was never going to add another name to that list. He owed that much to Derek. If he had to wait forever for it, he was okay with that.

Under the stars, they stare at each other. Derek’s eyes flick to his mouth and Stiles gazes back, unashamed. One of Derek’s hands moves to curl in the short hairs at the nape of Stiles’ neck; the other one brushes against his throat, tilts his chin to the side. He waits.

Stiles begs, “ _Kiss me_ ,” knows Derek can hear the way his heartbeat races, knows he can smell the warm scent of arousal that must be coming off him in waves. Derek groans, “ _Yeah_ ,” his voice low dark dangerous. Stiles whimpers, shudders; he’s suddenly so, _so_ desperate and he knows Derek can feel it too – he knows he’s gazing at him helplessly but there’s absolutely nothing he can do otherwise. When Derek presses their mouths together, closes his lips over Stiles’ and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, Stiles whines low in his throat, parts his lips, feels dizzy as Derek shivers, presses deeper. His hands clutch at Derek’s t-shirt frantically. A tongue slides into his mouth, heat curls through his body, needy whimpers pass his lips; he’s flushed all over, panting as Derek rolls him beneath his body and slots their hips together – he’s so hard it _hurts_.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles moans brokenly, can’t help himself, feels the vibrations more than hears the way Derek growls in response. There’s claws teasing at his throat; Derek is hard against him and the knowledge that _he_ did that is making his head swim.

When their lips separate, Stiles has to blink several times before he’s able to clear his hazy vision and, god, Derek looks like he wants to _wreck_ him – his eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed; Stiles is on top of the fucking world.

He giggles, bright and breathless, and Derek looks at him like he’s something achingly special, eyes intense and vulnerable all at once

It’s August and he’s in love.

“ _Come here_.” Stiles is propped up on his elbows, lip trapped in his teeth, staring up at Derek beneath his lashes, and his voice is a reverent whisper. Derek comes willingly.

When he sinks down on Derek’s cock, there’s stars in his eyes. Derek’s head is tilted back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth parted in awe, pink flush spreading across his chest and up his neck, and it’s the prettiest thing Stiles has ever seen. He rolls his hips experimentally, gasps, and Derek whimpers.

He moves like that, achingly slow and sure, works himself over Derek steadily, helpless to the whimpers and low moans that spill from his lips. Derek’s gazing at him like, _god,_ like he’s in fucking awe, eyes soft and dark and unbelieving. He stares right back and it’s like he’s being opened up from the inside out. He bares his soul to Derek and Derek drinks in every single piece of his being like he’s been waiting forever.

 _It’s never been like this_.

God, he didn’t know sex could _feel_ like this. Pleasure lights up every single one of his nerves like fucking sunshine and he basks in it, in the feel of Derek’s cock stretching him impossibly wide, in the feelings of rightness and home and love and _i think i’ve found heaven_ and _you’re my_ _forever_ and _yours yours yours_ that threaten to overwhelm him.

When Stiles’ thighs start to tremble, Derek rolls him beneath his body. He doesn’t change the pace, still achingly slow and sweet, but it makes him press into Stiles deeper. Each thrust is practised and deliberate; he pushes into Stiles like he’s trying to enter his veins. Stiles would let him. Thinks he’d already let him into his veins and his bloodstream and his bones seven years ago.

His orgasm builds slowly, so slowly, and he loses track of time, can barely remember his own name by the time Derek lets out one final shuddering moan and goes silent, filling Stiles up until he’s so so full, leaking, dripping with it. Stiles clenches around Derek, cries out, weak and high and pitchy, and it washes over him like a fucking tsunami he comes for so long. By the time he’s spent, he’s dizzy and trembling, but he’s giggling breathlessly, and Derek presses his smile into his neck until it’s imprinted on his soul.

 _Yours_.

In the morning, Derek fucks him in the shower, hard and fast.

He’d feel guilty about it, but he knows for a fact every single one of the couples have already christened the poor communal bathroom, so he lets Derek press him against the shower wall and wrap a hand around his throat and he falls apart again underneath the warm spray of water.

Back in their room, 30 minutes, a lot of humping and a blowjob later, Stiles’ stomach makes a growl of protest and he sighs forlornly.

“Dude. I think it’s time.” He pouts, and Derek scowls.

“Don’t call me dude.”

It’s an automatic response, is the thing, but Stiles perks up and grins brightly.

“So what _can_ I call you?” He’s grinning wider as he winds both arms around Derek’s neck. “Honey? Darling? Princess?” A pause. “Cuddle muffin?”

The look Derek levels him with is so unimpressed he’s kind of in awe.

“…Boyfriend?” He edges, smiling coyly, and Derek sighs at him, but the whole effect is kind of ruined by the fact there’s a grin splitting his face in two.

“Boyfriend works.”

Derek presses a kiss beneath his jaw, murmurs “ _sweetheart_ ” softly, and Stiles sighs happily.

“Alright. It’s time to face these bitches. I want bacon.”

Predictably, the moment they get downstairs, Erica screeches and launches herself at Stiles, Kira squeals, punching Scott in excitement while he grins brightly, Boyd claps Derek on the back, Jackson and Isaac wrinkle their noses, Lydia and Malia trade smug smirks, Liam and Mason’s heads flit between the two of them rapidly with growing realisation and Cora threatens to break Stiles in half if he so much as thinks about hurting her brother.

Later, Braeden calls from somewhere in Italy to tell them she’s happy for them. Stiles doesn’t question how she manages to find out. He gets a smiley emoji and 10 thumbs-up in a text from Melissa. When his dad calls, the phone gets passed to Derek for approximately 23 minutes.

All in all, it’s not the worst reaction.

Summer fades into autumn, into a winter that doesn’t hurt anymore, a spring full of hope that is far from tentative this time, into another summer that lasts forever.

Derek stays.

Stiles stops waiting. 

**Author's Note:**

> this took me way too long to write comments would be. um. really nice. ty for reading <33


End file.
